


dirty hands ain't made for shaking

by quakenbake (raccoontitties)



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoontitties/pseuds/quakenbake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not in a good place at the moment. But honestly, neither is the planet as a whole. Following the Skrull Invasion, Jessica Drew, always a woman of contradictions, does two things.</p>
<p>When faced with the uncertainty of what being Spider-Woman really means, she runs. When faced with the reality of maybe being the 'most screwed-over person in the history of the universe', she pretty much just hits things.</p>
<p>She can't be a hero, and she can't be an Avenger. Not right now. But she <i>can</i> take Abigail Brand's offer of a more permanent position at S.W.O.R.D. She can take her revenge.</p>
<p>One lousy alien at a time.</p>
<p>For the Marvel Big Bang. The lovely art by Pinkelephant24 is <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1017836">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by [this post](http://dornishs.tumblr.com/post/61110072936/you-will-fall-in-love-with-someone-who-annoys-you)

 

“You will fall in love with someone who annoys you--Despite all of this, there’s something keeping you drawn to them, something that makes you want to protect them from the harsh world. What you fail to realize, however, is that you are the harsh world. You aren’t their noble protector — you are someone to be protected from--”

* * *

 

Carol is the first person she sees, standing tall and magnificent. The abrupt change in brightness between the dark hold of the ship and the sunlight she walks out into stings her eyes, but Jess welcomes it because of the way it glints off Carol’s golden hair. Carol shines like a beacon and, as always, the pull is irresistible. Jess falls into her, wrapping her arms tight around Carol’s neck and squeezing until her own shoulders ache from the strain. Until she realizes Carol isn’t hugging her back.

Carol rests warm hands on her back, but doesn’t press close like Jessica needs. She holds herself tightly, her posture rigid. Her shoulders tense when Jess exhales into the fabric at the crook of her neck. She doesn’t resist as Jessica steps backwards out of the weak embrace. Carol is uncomfortable. She tilts her chin towards her chest and she, Carol Danvers of all people, hides behind the sweep of her hair to avoid Jessica’s eyes.

Just past her, friends and teammates regard Jessica with a mix of anger, fear, skepticism, and relief. They stand in groups of two and three, propping up injured comrades and dusting themselves off. Carol sports several bruises and scratches and Logan has that familiar, ‘I made out with a weed whacker’ look going on.

Jessica has missed something important.

“What did I do?” she blurts, focusing on Carol rather than the dozens of people staring at her.

“You didn’t do anything”

“Then why is everyone looking at me like that?”

“No one knows what to think.”

“Think about what?”

 

...

 

“Jess, please. You’re overreacting.”

“Am I? I was kidnapped by an alien queen who took my place for months. _Months_. And no one noticed. Carol, _you_ didn’t notice. Please tell me, what is the appropriate reaction to have to your best friend not realizing you’re gone.”

Carol flinches and Jess hates that she enjoys it. She feels the warped kind of satisfaction that comes from kicking a busted tire. You’re still screwed but the throbbing in your foot proves you can still do _something._ Except Jessica’s throb rests somewhere between her heart and her stomach and threatens to pull her inside out. It reminds her of her tendency to cut off her nose to spite her face. Carol’s trying to help, to apologize even, and she’s lashing out. Terribly. It’s wrong, but it’s only thing that have given Jessica any comfort since she found out what happened while she was held captive on that ship.

This isn’t the first time Jessica has lost time. If she’s honest, even this beats spending another ten years in a coma. Those times she can deal without remembering. But she can’t escape the fact that her face is the face of the enemy, the face of conquest, the face people hate. Years spent building a life she could be proud of have been shredded beyond repair. Her uniform and her very name are unsafe, but now they are all she has.

“How can I come back, like it didn’t happen?”

“Jess, everyone who matters knows the truth.”

“That may be. But I’m still the face of the invasion. You see how everyone looks at me. I’m not imagining it, so don’t tell me I am”

Carol shuts her mouth and clenches her jaw because that’s exactly what she was about to say.

“How can they trust me at their backs? How can I trust them at mine?”

Jess waits, honestly hoping Carol has a solution. Instead she gets Carol’s dejected sigh.

_“I_ trust you. Can’t that be enough?” her voice is soft and laced with hurt because Jessica has already made up her mind. It’s not enough.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” And that’s the point, really. She doesn’t know anything.

 

 ...

 

She is heavy. Like she’s carrying something that’s tugging down her center of gravity and pulling her off balance. It’s hard to see; her vision blurs and narrows and nothing registers but fuzzy areas of more intense light contrasted with wide swathes of darkness. When she stops squinting, because it’s doing absolutely fuck all to improve visibility, the damp earth beneath her becomes an extension of her and she notices the vibrations rumbling under her feet. She senses the whisper of the wind and the murmur of other living creatures moving and breathing in the vicinity. 

They’re...some place, some vague distance between far and near to where she’s standing.

And that’s what’s most off putting, not her near blindness or the weight pressing her down, but the nebulous nature of this indeterminate existence. She gathers enough information to know that she is here. But where is here and who is there and _what_ is she are questions she can’t begin to answer. There’s something, a soft, thumping, drumming cadence like a heartbeat. It can’t be hers, but it's coming from within.

The pulse is the last thing Jessica feels before she’s ripped apart.

She hits the ground hard, immobile as a shadow looms over her, hazy at the edges where it meets the darkness. The muted light allows Jessica to make out a face. Her face. This Jessica smiles. She- _it_ gleefully takes in the destruction it has wrought and the gaping hole in Jessica from which it sprung.

There isn’t pain --though there should be-- so much as palpable terror. Fake-Jess leans over real-Jess, a grotesque predator toying with her prey, before opening her mouth. Instead of teeth fangs that twitch with droplets of venom hanging full on their tips.

After a futile struggle to fight, stand, kick, move –anything- Jess finds herself in the depressing of resigning herself to being devoured but a monster that apparently dwelled in her all along. The one that just clawed it’s way out wearing _her_ face. She manages to call our just as jaws clamp around her neck.

Her scream yanks Jess awake and into a wholly different nightmare that isn’t altogether much of an improvement. There’s one fact that remains unchanged by any bad dreams: reality terrifies her.

 

...

 

When she’s done gulping down ragged breaths and her heart rate returns to almost normal, Jess leans back against the headboard and curls her knees up to her chest. She shivers uncontrollably, which thankfully has more to do with her sweat soaked skin coming in contact with the coolness of the room than whatever breakdown. Still, she can’t get back to sleep. 

No, that’s wrong. She’s tired, exhausted really. It’s a miracle they’ve patched her together enough to stand and move under her own power, but for every inch of her body that hurts, there’s another that’s in agony. Rest would do her a lot of good and this bed is the softest, cleanest she’s seen in months. Between the thin veneer of safety afforded by a house full of Avengers and the stitch in her side, there’s little doubt that Jessica would be out like a light the second her head hit the pillow.

The truth is she _won’t_ sleep. Not after that dream. She’s awake, shivering into her borrowed sweatshirt and pressing her hands against her temples out of choice.

Sleep invites monsters. Monsters from the past, both the distant past and the not so distant, from without and from within. It’s hard to remember the last night she didn’t wake in a cold sweat, searching the shadows for aliens, terrorists, _her parents._ If she’s having a lucky night, there are no dreams and she just switches off for however long it takes her body to recover from what she puts it through.

Tonight is not a lucky night. (Or a lucky year or a lucky decade) Jessica doubts she’d recognize good fortune if it smacked her in the face. The point is she’s done with any kind of dreaming. This leaves her avoiding nightmares by pacing a hole through the carpet.

That gets old quick.

 

...

 

The thing about all houses, even those that have so many rooms they’re probably part of a social experiment -- she saw an episode of something just like this that one time Peter convinced her to let him ‘educate her; on reality-- is that every one eventually finds their way to the kitchen. Jess has mostly completed her assembly of an impressive mountain of meat and cheese on rye --it’s probably going to be the highlight of her week--, when Logan walks in. 

He’s completely silent until he chooses to announce his presence and it takes a fair amount of restraint not to jump when he plops down on one of the stools behind her with a grunt. She turns; catching a glance at his apparently never-combed hair and smelling the cigar he’s just lit. Jessica forces the tension out of her shoulders. She hates the compulsive glance at her wrist - even after tonight, after everything she can’t help it. She has to be _sure._

All green.

That helps counter the wave of sheepishness, but not so much twinge of guilt for doubting one of her oldest friends. For thinking even a Skrull warrior could deal with the taste of Logan’s rancid cigars.

She sets the plate on the island between them. It takes two seconds for half of her masterpiece to make its way to Logan’s mouth.

“Oh for crying out loud. I really can’t have anything.”

She’s mostly kidding, and it takes less energy to turn back around and grab two beers from the refrigerator than to complain about stolen food. Alcohol won’t help as much as she wants it to, she clinks her bottle against his anyway before taking a long drink.

“You look like shit,” he says, tucking the last of ‘his’ half of the sandwich away before downing most of his beer in a single pull.

“I’m still prettier than you. Why are you up, anyway?”

“Heard you skulking around the house. Figured you could use some friendly company."

“Yeah, when’s that coming?”

“Ha. You planning on telling everyone before you run off to continue trying to get yourself killed? Or is it some kinda surprise?

“Who says I'm going anywhere?”

“Your beat up mug tells me everything I need to know. You haven't worked out whatever's up your ass yet and you ain’t gonna stop until we have to scrape you off the pavement again. It's fucking stupid, but I’ve been there and I’m not gonna judge you.”

“Isn't calling me stupid a tad judgmental?”

He ignores her and motions for another beer. Jess considers beaning him across the face with his empty bottle. Fortunately, whatever self-preservation she has left kicks in. That’s another thing. Her temper is terrible now. Well...more terrible than before. All it seems to take is the wind blowing to set her off. Logan might as well be a tornado.

“Look”, she snaps, setting the bottle down with much more force than necessary. “How about I slide this plate over and you keep the rest of the sandwich _and_ your wisdom to yourself?”

“Fine, kid. It’s your life to screw up.” He grabs the rest of the sandwich and shoves most of it into his mouth. “Next time, go a little lighter on the mustard.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She’s got better things to do than be unreasonably annoyed because a grown man can’t manage to chew with his mouth closed. She could be lying awake and pondering her feelings. She could even do that upstairs where no one can call her out on it.

 

...

 

She almost makes it back up the stairs. 

“Jess?”

Of course, she runs into Carol. Of course Carol stands at the top of the staircase with her arms crossed over that damn raggedy USAF T-shirt. She rests her hip against the balcony, waiting for Jess to close the distance. Carol almost doesn’t seem to notice how Jess considers scrambling down the stairs and getting as far away as possible. Her wide eyes belie the mess of tangled blonde hair tumbling across her shoulders and the fact that it’s four AM. Why is she awake? She doesn’t have heightened senses and Jess was not _that_ loud. She expected this, expected to find Jess wandering the halls like some petulant ghost. It’s annoying to prove her right.

It’s more annoying that she and Logan have been eyeing her and exchanging meaningful looks since departing from Madripoor. This tacit understanding between them that something is wrong with Jess and that she might need some kind of keeper --well, it’s even more infuriating than having some hairy jerk bogard your sandwich.

It feels like some kind of half-assed intervention.

Jess wishes she’d stayed hidden away in her room. Carol so obviously wants to _talk_ and the weight of the concern in her eyes is exhausting. Jess can feel the ache in her head, a dull pressure from everything she’s desperately trying to push back into a deep recess where she won’t have to deal with it. It’s at war with the pang of fondness for Carol, memories of laughing, fighting and generally being the best kind of awesome.

It all hits her like a wave cresting and breaking over her head and where, five minutes ago, Jessica was nearly ready to fight the Wolverine, now there’s not even enough energy to get properly riled and defensive.

“Yeah”

She deflates with a heavy sigh. Carol makes a little flick of an eye roll she thinks goes unnoticed. That hint of intolerance for Jessica’s theatrics is almost like the old days.

Almost.

“You look terrible.” With Logan it's stated like a fact. With Carol the words come with underlying worry that make it an accusation.

“So I've been told.”

“What are you doing up?”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to answer that question with another, like _why are you checking up on me?_ But Jess knows the answer to that and just because she’s been dealt a shitty hand, doesn’t mean she has to be a shitty person. Especially not to Carol.

“I made a sandwich.”

Carol doesn’t comment on the lack of sandwich, instead she cocks her head to the side and squints. She’s done that before, in the field when she’s trying to figure out the best way to attack, to determine which parts of her enemy will yield easiest. That look aimed at Jessica sends a chill down her spine. Heading in the opposite direction looks like a better idea with each passing second. It’s ridiculous, yes. She’s fairly certain Carol’s not about to clean her clock, but that’s not what scares her anyway.

“Can’t sleep?”

Jess shrugs, “At least I stopped having the nightmares about flying monkeys.”

Carol frowns and Jess regrets divulging so much. Supplying an actual reason to worry impedes the goal of escaping without incident and returning to her room. Overall, not Jess’ best plan.

“It’s fine Carol. I just mean, this isn’t anything new and --.”

Carol’s lips twitch with the effort it takes to refrain from calling Jessica a liar. It’s must be killing her not to ask whatever she wants to ask. The reprieve won’t last, so Jessica climbs the last few steps and moves to turn down the hallway, but Carol reaches for her as soon as she steps onto the landing. The grip on her wrist isn’t tight, but Carol squeezes to get her full attention. Her eyes, stunning even in the darkness, reflect the small amount of moonlight seeping in through the windows. The look in them, that earnest, imploring look is as close to pleading as Carol ever gets.

“Want to sleep in my room?”

She asks the simple question not more complex, _Will you let me in,_ but that’s what she means. This is the definition of a rock and a hard place. An outright rejection would hurt her feelings, especially with all the bitter words hanging between them. But does Jessica you really want to be that vulnerable? Even with Carol?

Why not? She’s most likely going to wake up screaming regardless and sound travels. It might as well be Carol who witnesses her distress. She’s always been there for her and she’s still trying now. Even though Carol doesn’t - can’t understand how Jessica feels, she’s got her back. And when she wakes, scratching and clawing her way out of a snare made only of sheets and nightmares, Jess will know for sure that the demons are all in her head and not actually stealing through the shadows to slit her throat.

Jess’ silence passes for acquiescence and Carol’s fingers slip down her wrist to tangle their fingers together. Jess lets out an involuntary sigh. She’d forgotten how much she enjoys the feel of her palm pressed against another person’s, a tether made of skin and bone and an unspoken promise that she won’t get left behind.

Carol leads her down the opposite end of the hall, which confirms her suspicions. There was no way she heard Jess shuffling around. Jess wants to take offense; she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need to be coddled. But some secret part of her is touched. Or maybe it’s not a secret at all. As the newly deceased Skrull, Kaviti, so cruelly explained, the entire invasion was built around exploiting her apparently friendless and unremarkable existence. Maybe there’s a sign on her front that reads, “please love me” in bold letters. It would complement the one on her back that almost definitely says, “kick me.”

They make their way down the hall in silence, the plush carpets completely muting the sound of their footsteps. Carol toes her door and open and tugs Jess towards the bed. Her usual side, the left side, is already turned down and slept in, but she moves around to the right side before slipping her sweats off and sliding in. She’s given up the side closest to the door. Jess wants to thank her but that would require acknowledging her need to have a readily accessible escape route. She’s not ready to have that talk yet.

Carol hasn’t said a word since they left the landing. She’s great like that sometimes, knowing when to go at a problem headfirst (most of the time) and when to let it lie (rarely). She just folds her hands across her stomach and stares at the ceiling while Jess takes off her shoes and debates removing her jeans as well. Carol’s room is a few degrees higher than the rest of the house, but she also has a bad habit of kicking her covers onto the floor while she sleeps. In the end, Jess just tugs her sweater off and tosses it over a chair. Goosebumps spring out over her arms where they’re left bare by her thin undershirt. Before she has a chance to truly get cold, she slides under the covers and drags them up to her neck.

The space between them feels vast even though it’s maybe a foot and some inches. Jess can feel Carol’s warmth from her side of the bed. She radiates heat because of her powers and Jess finds that makes her the ideal bedmate in a house where someone puts way too much money into central air. They lay side by side staring up into nothing. Jess waits, because Carol _is_ going to ask. She might have learned when to back off, but no one ever taught her how to give up.

“What the hell did you get up to in Madripoor, Jess? And why go alone?”

Jess tells her everything, including the details she cut from the version she gave on the ride home.

It’s wrong, but Jess enjoys Carol’s wince when she mentions exactly how many times she got thrown out of buildings. She can feel the disapproving frown boring into the side of her face. It doesn’t take her long at all to start an impassioned speech explaining why Jess should rejoin the team or at least take her on as a partner. She leans closer as she presses her case, engulfing Jess in warmth and that that hot sinking feeling that always goes hand in hand with Carol Danvers invading her personal space. Against her will Jess’ pulse jumps and she closes her eyes, trying in vain to will her heart rate back to normal.

Another thing she can’t help is the humorless chuckle that tumbles out when Carol describes the people in this house as _family._ Jessica Drew plus family is a hilarious enough concept on its own. But now? Is Nick Fury some kind of surrogate father figure? Or is that Uncle Logan? And what exactly does that make Carol? Big sister? Oh god, no.

That’s the end of Carol’s soft, patient approach. She yanks Jess to face her, super strength adding another bruise to her collection. This one, she kind of deserves; she’s being a dick. Jess avoids her gaze and opens her mouth to apologize, but Carol blows all of that and any further good intentions out of the water by speaking first.

“Jess, you’re not acting like yourself.”

“Oh, like you would know.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” The fingers on her arms tighten imperceptibly. Jess steels herself against Carol’s wounded expression. It’s a low blow, but she’s not wrong, not exactly.

“It’s not. It’s not fair to me. And I know nothing about this is fair to you, but what can I say that hasn’t already been said? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you weren’t _you._ That none of us did. I’m sorry that when you came back, those whispers you swore you heard behind your back actually were people wondering whether they could trust you? I’m sorry, Jess.”

She lets go and rolls onto her back.

“I’ve said all that, Jess. And I’ll say it again if you need me to, but I can’t change anything that happened. My guilt won’t fix this. And neither will you getting pummeled into the ground halfway across the world all because you’re looking for something to hit. I just don’t see why you —“

“God, Carol, I’ve been through hell. And literally every spot on my body aches. I really don’t need a lecture right now.”

Jess isn’t sure how much time passes before Carol speaks again. A minute? Maybe ten?

“…Fine. You don’t. But you _do_ need to sleep. Unless you like those bags under your eyes.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a new look I’m going for. I can change my name to Raccoon-Woman and be Logan’s trusty sidekick.”

“Huh. Well, it’d be a great team-up. You’re both jerks.”

They fall into another silence, but a peaceful one, content with the current state of _not-_ fighting. Jess accepts that this will have to be good enough for now. Until she starts shivering again, even under the blankets. She tries to hide it by tugging her arms into her shirt. It works just as well as could be expected: not at all. Carol rolls her eyes and reaches for her, gently this time. She rolls Jess to her side of the bed and wraps her arms around Jess’ waist. There’s nowhere for Jess to rest her head but on Carol’s shoulder. Their legs tangle together and her foot rubs against the smooth skin of Carol’s calf. Carol wriggles a bit, presumably to find a comfortable spot, then rubs Jess’ back a few times before sighing and closing her eyes.

Jess considers squirming away, but being bundled up in Carol’s arms gives her some of the peace and comfort that’s been sorely lacking. Carol is like a soft, comfortable furnace, chasing away the chill from Jess’ skin wherever it comes in contact with hers. She still smells like warm honey. Jess wonders what she smells like to Carol now that she’s hugging the _real_ Jess again. If the Skrull queen felt like her when she touched people and if she even stole the way Jess likes to be squeezed just a little too tight. She wonders if Carol can feel the difference in the heartbeat against hers or if it’s all the same as when Jess was gone, locked in the bowels of an alien warship.

Jess studies Carol’s face, the line of her jaw, proud and bordering on stubborn. Golden hair complete with pale brows that wing gracefully up her forehead. The long lashes above a straight nose that directs Jess’ gaze to her mouth. Jess stares at her lips for longer than she’s willing to admit, certain her friend has nodded off.

“Go to sleep, Jess.”

Carol doesn’t laugh when Jess starts at the sound of her sleepy voice, jerking back against the restraint of her arms, but one side of her mouth curls up. She stretches up to press a kiss to Jess’ cheek before settling into her pillow. Jess buries her face, flushed with embarrassment and an altogether different kind of agitation, into the curve of Carol’s neck and tries to relax.

Somehow she manages to sleep for a few hours with no dreams at all. That’s a win in her book, but she’s still got a list of losses as long as her arm.

It’s that unfinished business that pushes her out of Carol’s bed and has her slinking out of the house before dawn. When she starts one of the dozen cars at her disposal and pulls onto the street, there’s a silhouette in the ground floor window, broad shouldered and rough hewn with the most ridiculous hair she’s ever seen on a person who wasn’t being ironic. She knows then that she didn’t need to leave a note for Carol to know that she left. She knows then that she should have.


	2. Chapter 2

“You will fall in love with someone for one night and one night only. They’ll come to you when you need them and be gone in the morning when you don’t. At first, this will make you feel empty and you’ll try to convince yourself that you could’ve loved this person for longer than a night, but you can’t.”

* * *

Jess has seven missed calls and four messages by noon. She doesn’t even have to take the phone out of her pocket to know that there’s concerned message followed by a string of angry ones telling her to stop being an idiot. By that time, she’s on an international flight and free of the vibrating reminder of just how badly she’s mistreating the people who care about her. Or person, really. It’s much easier to check the phone that’s part of her S.W.O.R.D. equipment, the only things she’s brought with her aside from a few changes of clothes. Only one person is ever going to contact her there, and she isn’t going to yell at Jess to reconsider her choices. Making shitty decisions is how Jessica knows she’s truly alive and still herself. 

“It’s about time, Ms. Drew.” Abigail Brand‘s voice is firm and clipped, like she was actually waiting for this call and isn’t just making a joke.

“Are you serious? It’s been less than 48 since I left Madripoor.”

“And in that time I’ve managed to mediate two serious diplomatic disputes and put down an attempted annexation of the moon.”

“Oh.”

“But since you’ve finally deigned to check back in, you could make yourself useful.”

“Brand, I’ve missed your charming personality. Want to get to the point any time soon?”

“I pulled your itinerary. Brazil is a bold choice.”

“Yeah well, I don’t want to be in the States for a while, grocery shopping is hard when the public still recognizes you as a villain. Brazil is as good a place as any to start taking down Skrulls. At least it’s warm. And my Portuguese is flawless.”

“Good. We’re working on something a little intensive up here, so you won’t have much back-up unless it gets ugly. Call me when the target has been neutralized. Godspeed, Agent Drew.”

Jess makes a mental note to ask where exactly ‘up here’ is. It’s hard to get details when her working relationship with Brand amounts to little more than short conversations and emailed files.

 

...

 

Sometimes, shape-shifting alien invaders pose as costumed superheroes. Even Jessica will admit there are some advantages to that course of action. It's not the safest or the brightest plan, but it nearly worked so she can't knock it. If she were ever personally part of an invasion force, however, she'd go as a nurse or a bus driver. Something innocuous that no one would suspect. That way, if she ended up in a situation like this, where the invasion failed and multiple organizations were after her head, she could lay low and hopefully remain under the radar.

Her target in Sao Paulo clearly doesn't have the same survival instinct she. Somewhere down the line, he decided to replace a high level flunky in one of the most nefarious organized crime syndicates in Brazil.

She watches him for a few days gathering information and learning his routine. If it weren't for the ever reliable Brand and the alert of her watch when she'd brushed past him on the street --she had to check; you don't live her life without major trust issues - she'd think he was the real deal, wallowing in booze and drugs, reveling in the violence and bloodshed, feasting while the majority of the country starves. But the difference between a scumbag who's not her problem and a scumbag who's about to die comes down to nine red bars on a silly little watch.

Her ribs still ache and the bruises from her last mission haven't faded, so for once, she does the smart thing. It's easy for someone with her colorful background to find the black market and part with a few thousand dollars for high-end tactical rifle. It’s just as easy to set up in on a dusty cliff 800 meters away from her target’s opulent beachfront villa and wait.

As most thugs, tend to do, her he wastes little time throwing a party. Whatever he's celebrating, a deal with a new supplier, the demise of a rival, his own perceived immortality, she’ll never know. She doesn't care.

The downside is, he'll never know why he died. That it was Jessica Drew who buried two bullets in his head and shot a grenade into his home for good measure. But neither will the Brazilian authorities. They’ll chalk it up to another crime related death and never think of it again. Brand should enjoy that. See, she can do low-key.

Jessica's newfound wisdom is fleeting. Brand sends her from the humid streets of Madripoor and Sao Paulo to the chill of Ottawa. She decides she hates Ottawa within the first five minutes. So much fucking snow. This time her mark is a female. Or is posing as a woman? The complexities of Skrull gender identification are beyond both her understanding and her interest.

Kr'zia Dex, a high-ranking science officer for the Skrull Empire, operating under the name Kristina Dalton, works as an adjunct professor of Neurosciences at Carleton University. She has a fiancé and a small bungalow in the suburbs. They even have a Labrador puppy.  It’s all so domestic and sweet that Jessica wants to vomit over the injustice of it. It's unfair. Alien bitch thinks she can come here and ruin Jessica's life and still end up with a happy ending, with a picket fence and 2.5 kids? No.  _No._

When she steps out of the shadows in the university’s parking garage, the look on Dex' face is priceless. Jessica lives for that split second when Skrulls realize she’s not their queen and she’s most definitely not coming to save them. In the back of her mind, she wonders how many fugitive Skrulls haven't gotten the memo that Veranke is deader than dead.

Dex is smarter than the others. Not only does she successfully blend in, lunges for Jessica as soon as she catches on. Unfortunately, she's a scientist and not a warrior. Her punch splits Jess' lip but it's not enough to send her sprawling. In fact she smiles, delighting in the sting of her bloody grin as she delivers a bruising blast to Dex' solar plexus. Jess kicks the weak spot behind her knee and when the Skrull falls, Jess hits her. She keeps hitting her until each blow makes a sickening squelch and red and peach become red and green.

When it's over, she sits back and looks at her bruised and bloody knuckles.

"What a mess." Jess has always been fond of metaphor.

She checks in and gets a terse  _well done_ that might be high praise considering the source. A second message tells her to rest for a few days and to report to the Peak in 48 hours. Jessica doesn't know much about the Peak, but she knows it's in space and she knows it got blown up at some point. Not that the blowing up is a deal breaker; S.H.I.E.L.D runs through helicarriers like toilet paper. The details of her getting into space under her own power are a going to be a challenge, though.

She shrugs at the phone like Brand can see her. That's a problem she can deal with 47.5 hours from now.

Letting herself into her apartment is surreal. She hasn't been here in ages. Standing in the middle of the living room looking at the soft couch, the walnut bookcase, the vase of long dead flowers, it doesn't feel like Jessica's place. She passes by a mirror, sees the flecks of someone else's blood spattered across her cheeks and neck. That face, dirty and covered in gore, looks exactly like her face though. Jess wonders if she should worry about that.

Jess is debating whether she can suck it up and crash in a place that’s been this violated when the blinking light of her answering machine catches her attention. Most of the messages are from Carol --who else would call, really? But there's an extremely juvenile and insensitive from Peter that makes her laugh. A warm feeling settles in her chest, a small one that displaces the tightness and the anger and the sadness. She runs a hand over her face and smears the grime all over her chin.

"Ugh, gross."

Those feelings of affection are going to have to be dealt with later. Now she just want's to hose off and lie down somewhere.

She showers for what feels like an eternity before she feels clean. By that time the adrenaline has long worn off and she's thankful Veranke at least had the decency to refill her prescription of Lunesta. She takes a handful and walks back to the couch. No fucking way is she sleeping in that bed. The calendar on her phone says it's 2 AM Wednesday morning. She sets an alarm for Thursday at noon and collapses into blessed unconsciousness.

 

...

 

Jess was right; the Peak  _was_  blown up. The new one still has that ‘new space station’ smell to it. She follows her escort, two burly guys who seem to think that glaring and brandishing their big guns is some kind of hazing. Or maybe they remember Veranke and they’re actually trying to be threatening.

Either way, everything isn’t the way it was. Less than twenty people occupy the operations deck and half of the monitors are unmanned. Still, the bustle of activity and the air of urgency are impressive. Jess gets the impression that the woman in charge knows what she’s doing. That must explain how she keeps her job despite of how widely disliked she is.

There is no tour, just directions to find Commander Brand in the Arena, which naturally she has no clue how to find. She passes about a dozen agents as she wanders down the hallways. They’re seemingly unfazed by her presence. So Jess’ arrival is common knowledge, but no one is here to meet her? Rude.

She considers just standing still and shouting for Brand when a tap on her shoulder has her fist flying. The agent scrambles out of her reach and holds his hands in front of him, palm up in surrender. He should know better than to sneak up on her, on anyone in this line of work really. But he’s obviously new, freshly minted from wherever it is that they make S.W.O.R.D agents.

“Agent Drew, I’m Agent Terry Ellis. My apologies for not meeting your transport in time; I was detained elsewhere.”

This kid looks like he’s about to piss himself. Jess doesn’t flatter herself to thinkhe’s worried about displeasing  _her._

“Agent Drew, if you’ll follow me. Commander Brand has ask you to come to her as soon as you arrive.” He reaches to take Jess’ elbow, but wisely rethinks chivalry and gestures for her to follow him down a series of long sterile corridors. They all look alike, but Ellis seems to know where he’s going.

The Arena turns out to be a nickname for the S.W.O.R.D. gym. It looks standard enough, complete with dumbbells and punching bags and the like. It's missing few treadmills for Jess' taste but paramilitary organizations are into more pugilistic forms of exercise, anyway.

Abigail Brand certainly is. She's facing off with this big mountain of a man --thing? He's kind of gray and scaly and also really fucking big, but he's wearing blue shorts similar to her green ones. Unless world conquest has gotten really official since the last time, this is friendly sparring and not an instance where back up is needed.

_Duh._  It makes sense Brand isn't the only non-human working for S.W.O.R.D. Who's more qualified to field alien threats than aliens themselves? (And if that doesn’t send a chill up Jess’ spine.) Shaking it off, she hefts herself up onto a bench and watches the show, trying to ignore the way the entire room smells like dude --which is impressive because isn't this place supposed to be new?  Ellis shuffles at her side, waiting for an opportune time to get his boss' attention without getting reamed out for distracting her. He fails on that account.

“Hey, aren't I a guest or something?”

To Brand's credit, the hit she takes to her jaw only sends her flying a couple feet before she recovers. She signals her partner to stop and looks over her shoulder with such a scathing glare that Jess takes back her judgment of Ellis' cowardice. Now she gets why he made sure to stand behind her.

"You're late"

"It's his fault,” she says jerking her thumb at the agent. She wants to laugh at the way he blanches but just then Brand clenches her fists and Jess swears her gloves start smoking.

She leans towards him and whispers. "You can probably dismiss yourself, now. I no longer need an escort. Thanks, champ."

He nods gratefully, stammers out a "Sir" at Brand’s back and beats a hasty retreat.

"So…" she says, eyeing Brand’s workout clothes, S.W.O.R.D issue sweats and a black tank. She doesn't ogle per se -- she's not a pig. But it's natural for a woman to notice, envy, and maybe admire another woman's well-defined biceps. It's a plain gray room with a beige floor covered by black mats; what else is there to look at?

"Agent Drew. It's good to see you again."

Brand isn't angry if the welcoming hand she extends towards Jess is any indication. Apparently, that's just how her face is.

"Welcome to the Peak"

 

...

 

Jessica is grateful for two things. First, the main strategy room on the Peak does not smell like dude. And also, Abigail Brand has finally put a shirt on. That makes it easier for Jess to argue with her without getting distracted. She and her people are discussing some kind of advanced surveillance system that is surely interesting to people other than her. If Carol were here, they could make nerd jokes behind everyone’s back, but instead she’s just chilling against the wall in a space station waiting for her next assignment. 

“Drew” Brand barks, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Here”

She hands over a tablet with a series of files already open. Jess could get used to the swag that comes with being a S.W.O.R.D. agent.

“How’s your Mandarin?”

“Nonexistent.” Oh. That’s a map of Beijing. She’s going to China. “I wanted to go someplace warm.”

“And I want a three month vacation. But the planet won’t save itself. I’ll be sending you more information as soon as we figure this out. What you have now isn’t much, but it will help you narrow your search. Feel free to stop by the armory before we give you a lift back “

The armory. _Cool._

“Agent Drew, I want to stress that you will be in a recon capacity until we get there.”

“What?”

“Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Brand wants to call bullshit, but she won’t in front of her men. Instead she takes a deep, calming, breath.

“You’re not working this one alone.”

“Why? I can handle myself.”

“Well. I thought that about Madripoor and you managed to decimate the police force and fall off of every building in the city  _before_ alerting Norman Osborn to our operation.”

“When are you going to let that go?”

“When politicians stop crawling up my ass.“

“OK  _that,_ sounds like a personal problem. Very personal.”

“I can kill you and shoot your body off into space, you know that, right?”

“Not before I fry every brain cell you’ve got in your skull.” OK maybe threatening the commander of S.W.O.R.D. on the Peak surrounded by her minions isn’t a good idea. Jess expects some kind of reaction that isn’t the corner of Brand’s mouth quirking up for just a second.

“Good. That attitude is why I hired you. But I also like to keep my operatives alive whenever possible. This isn’t the same as knocking off a schoolteacher in Ottawa. These guys might actually be up to something. Observe, scout, hell take a nap, but do not engage the target until I arrive. That’s an order.”

“But--”

“Dismissed.”

 

...

 

By the time Jess’ plane lands, she has stopped fuming and simmering and fantasizing about punching Abigail Brand in the face. She’s is a bossy, aggravating bitch, but Jess  _needs_ this mission and she needs S.W.O.R.D. So just this once, she can suck it up and follow the directions she was given.

First, she has to get to Beijing proper from the Tianjin airport. BCIA is too closely monitored and the Chinese government is a bit testy about outside organizations operating on their soil without clearance. While in car, the phone in her hand beeps and she flicks it on to read the text.

“Be careful. Do not engage. You’ll understand why when you read the file I’m sending you. This is more than just one thug who’ll beat you up and take your lunch money. This is bigger.”

Jess skims the document, parsing the official S.W.O.R.D. speak to get to the important information. Instead of a single Skrull hiding in Beijing, there’s an entire cell. They’re reaching out to their brethren in Southeast Asia and are having a troubling amount of success. It’s unclear what they’re planning, but whatever it is, she’ll stop them. By any means necessary.

She can tell, from the background of the suspected leader of this group that this isn’t going to be a find and capture mission. This is going to be a small-scale war. Before the invasion, Jess would have been conflicted about the lines she’d have to cross, all the steps backwards she’d have to take. But now, all she feels is a steel resolve settling inside of her, bringing with it a welcome calm.

For now, she can’t be a superhero, but she can be an alien hunter. It takes someone who can walk in the shadows, toe the line between right and wrong, someone who can navigate both sides of morality. Jess, of all people, was born and bred for this.

 

...

 

When she gets into to the city, Jess ambles around the haunts generally popular with expats. She blends in better than expected in her hotel across the street from the enormous Apple store. By the time the sun rises, she’s found her target, watched him leave his apartment and head to ‘work’ at the HSBC branch on the corner. Jess considers moving her accounts elsewhere if this is who’s going to be handling her money. Background checks clearly aren’t what they used to be. Satisfied with her recon, and a bit twitchy at her forced inaction, she heads back to her hotel, takes a shower and waits for the sun to go down.

She hates the way she jumps at the knock at the door. An attacker wouldn’t knock. She gets a dose of spider-bite ready just in case. Jess swings open the door to find Abigail Brand leaning against the opposite wall looking for all the world like an exchange student from some art school in Vermont.

She’s legitimately wearing a beanie, skinny jeans and a set of dark green glasses that says less ‘tactical lenses’ and more ‘I’m just one of those losers who wears sunglasses at night’. Jess backs up to let her in, frowning at the high top sneakers that complete her ensemble. She gets that the point is to blend in, you know, to not look like a half-alien commander of an intergalactic law enforcement agency, but Brand looks like a 20 year old hipster and Jess can’t decide if it’s unnerving or really really cute.

“Nice hat, Abby.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t expect me to call you Commander Brand in that outfit.” Really she can’t. It’s against the laws of both nature and comedy.

“Shut up.”

“No seriously. I think my first boyfriend had a hat just like that. Though that relationship did not end in the best of ways. You’re not going to turn on me and try to kill me, right?”

“It’s a strong possibility. Look, if I feed you, will you be quiet?”

“Probably. How did you find me anyway?”

“Your phone.”

“You’re tracking me? Like a dog?”

“No, I’m tracking your phone. It’s sinfully expensive. You’re just a side headache.”

“Rude.” 

She earns Jess’ forgiveness with enough food to feed a small army. The divine smells wafting up from nondescript boxes make her stomach growl. Noodles, shrimp and vegetables she recognizes; a bunch of other things she doesn't. Abigail hands her chopsticks and as an afterthought hands her a fork as well. She’s eating a box of random stuff that smells delicious but looks disgusting. Soon enough, her noodles are gone and Jess casts a covetous eye at her partner’s plate.

“What's this?” Jess asks, reaching over to grab a forkful.

“I wouldn't if I were you. It’s spicy.”

That sounds like a dare to Jess. They’re about to blatantly disregard Chinese sovereignty to embark on a mission that toes the line between brilliance and suicide. Jess thinks she can handle a hot pepper or two.

Which is what she tells herself for the whole three minutes she manages not to cry.

“I told you.” Abigail actually looks sympathetic. She doesn’t laugh when Jess reaches for water, but she does snatch it away form her. That bitch.

“Water isn’t going to help”

_What?_  Is this how Jess is finally going to die? With a burning tongue and a hole in her esophagus.

Abigail digs further in the bag and hands her a pouch of yogurt. “You want a milk based product right now. Trust me.”

She's right. But by the time Jess can feel her lips again (she swears to never eat weird things off of someone else’s plate ever again) the sun has set. Brand is --Jess decide she gets to be Commander Brand whenever she has deadly weapons--, is strapping a gun to her thigh.

Gone is the hipster in the tight thermal Henley and in her place is a solider in a tactical suit. A dangerous woman with an angry set to her jaw and on whose shoulders obviously rests the kind of guilt borne from letting an entire planet down.

This. This is what Jess signed up for.

 

...

 

What Jess did not sign up for however, is an ambush. Like most things, waking up hanging from her arms in a dank cell is something she could have done without.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Brand hangs next to her. One of her lenses has been crushed and her glasses are barely resting on her nose. Unlike Jess, she only has one and secured over her head and--

“What’s that smell”?

“Burning metal,” she says, holding up her free hand. Around her wrist is a mangled hunk of steel. The rest of the binding appears to have been melted away. A few warped remnants clatter to the floor at their feet.  Brand reaches up to her other hand and wraps her fingers around the chain. A glow emanates from her palm and within minutes the second cuff falls away.

“Neat trick. Now do me.”

When they’re both free and Brand has melted a large enough hole through the door to slip through, Jessica turns to her.

“What happened? And why were still alive? Not that I’m ungrateful.”

“They knew we were coming. At least five men were waiting as soon as we got here. Got the drop on you. Knocked us out, brought us here. Man, I’ve got a knot in the back of my head making me even crankier than usual.”

“Which still begs the question. Why are we alive?”

“Right before they put me down, one shouted not to kill you. You specifically”

“Weird.”

“Indeed.”

“You think it’s a revenge thing? Now that I’m the main Skrull bounty hunter or whatever.”

“I’m thinking a lot of things. Some of which make more sense than others.”

They hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Jess climbs up the wall and presses herself into the ceiling so that whoever it is will be directly beneath her when they reach Brand’s position. Jess never gets the chance to pounce. Brand moves fast, taking her opponent down in seconds and silencing him with a foot on his throat. Jess admires the economy of movement from her position even as she scans the corridor for more enemies.

The man looks like a mercenary. A seasoned killer, which means it’s going to be hard to get information out of him. Not that it stops Brand from trying.

“Where are we and who’s in charge?” she hisses, reaching down to place her hand around his throat. From his smothered scream, Jess infers that Brand’s hands are still hot. Good. He should know they’re serious. When no answer is forthcoming, she swings down to crouch next to him, delivering a relatively gentle but threatening dose of venom between his legs.

“In other words”, she interjects, “take us to your leader.”

He glares up at her, defiantly silent. Brand makes a sound a bit like a growl in the back of her throat and slams his head back into the floor, knocking him out temporarily if not permanently.

“Never mind, we’ll find out ourselves.”

What they find is in fact, very close to the worst-case scenario. S.W.O.R.D. agents lie bloody and broken on the main level of what should have been the first floor of a standard layout office building but is instead in smoldering shambles.

“Son of a bitch. These were bullets.”

Yeah...obviously.  Jess waits for Brand to say something else readily apparent, like the sky is blue or her hair is green. “And?”

“Alien soldiers don’t use bullets. Human soldiers do.”

Jess makes the mistake of looking down at the bodies on the floor. One face is familiar. It’s Ellis. This had to have been his first real mission. In fact, the only reason she can fathom for someone as green as him to be in the field is severe understaffing. His face is young and smooth with a smattering of a beard he probably let come in to stop his teammates from picking on him. Jess remembers thinking to herself how much he looked like a teenager. But now it really hits her,  _he looks like a teenager._

Jess understands the frustration radiating off of her partner. There is another enemy on the battlefield and that enemy has just fired the first shot.

“Osborn?”

“I--I don’t know.”

Brand stands over her men, fist clenched at her hips. Jess isn’t what to say.

_I’m sorry you’ve lost even more of your men and have no clue how to avenge them_  doesn’t seem to cut it. 

So she says nothing.

Jess goes back to her hotel and a dead-eyed Brand leaves to make some call. She contacts Jess the next morning asking her to go home for a few days until S.W.O.R.D. has resolved some organizational matters. Jess can tell from the strain in her voice, organizational matters means  _notifying the families._ Jess lies awake (which isn’t unusual) and she worries (which is). She still doesn’t like Brand, not really. But she likes it even less when Brand  _asks_ her to do anything.

 

...

 

Their next contact, a cryptic text to meet at the bar on the corner has Jess sighing in relief. A short jog down the block and she finds Brand –Abigail in a booth towards the back.

“Hey, boss. What can I do you for?”

“Don’t do  _that_ , Drew. Obedience doesn’t become you.”

“True.” Jess orders a beer, not trusting herself to pour a glass of whatever is in the pitcher in front of Abigail. She swears she can still feel her lips tingling from the last time. “What brings you to the neighborhood then?”

“I set the Peak on low occupancy status until…” Abigail clears her throat. “I’ll be on-world until I’ve briefed my superiors.”

This is the point in a conversation where Carol or Lindsey or Jan would offer a hug. Jess raises her hand and lets it over a few inches above Abigail’s shoulder before dropping it into her lap. She isn’t sure how to offer comfort; and historically something about her has precluded close female friendships. She suspects it’s unintentional pheromone leakage, something subconscious and spider-y about marking her territory. Abigail’s body language indicates that an overt gesture wouldn’t be well received, anyway.

“What can I do?” she asks. She doesn’t feel like a part of S.W.O.R.D. yet, but she’s got a vested interest here. She remembers Ellis and the others who died horrible violent deaths. She wants to take whatever bastard did this down on principle alone.

“I’ve got a plan to figure out what’s going on. But you’re going to have to spend a lot more time working solo again. And you’ll have to trust me.”

“That’s it? That's all you’re going to tell me.”

Abigail shifts in her seat. “It’s sensitive and I’m not sure. But what I know is that no one knew about that mission but S.W.O.R.D. personnel. Much like your op in Madripoor”

“A leak?”

“Probably”, she says stiffly, “and I plan to find out exactly where the leak goes and burn everything to the ground.”

“Cheers to that”, Jess says, raising her class.

 

 ...

 

Maybe it’s the liquor combined with lack of sleep, or that Abigail looks like Jess feels 95% of the time.  Or maybe it’s just the lighting in this bar that makes her hair look black instead of green, but there has got to be some kind of explanation for why Jess is crammed into this dingy bathroom stall with her hand down the front of Abigail Brand’s trousers.

They survived Beijing and to meet again in New York. Abigail believes S.W.O.R.D. is compromised and they’re both reached out to anyone they think can give them information. Now they’re waiting. Waiting for what is still unclear, the only sure thing is that they’re not alone.

It’s been weeks since anyone has touched Jess with something other than a fist or a booted foot.

Jess thinks she can feel a similar loneliness in Abigail. It’s why she’s with here with someone who very clearly –and self-admittedly-- amounts to little more than a pain in her ass, rather than with actual friends. Jess doesn’t ask her if she has any, even though she’s curious. She can’t be the only sad sack with a fucked up life hidden behind bravado, or in Abigail’s case, bitchery. But she doesn’t ask because she’s afraid of the answer. Afraid she’ll have to deal with sympathy on top of whatever else Jess feels for her. She definitely doesn’t ask Abigail about her family.

She also doesn’t ask her why Abigail is already this wet or if she was expecting -- hoping-- this would happen.

Jess only has one question when she slides two fingers up inside of her and curls them until Abigail moans against her neck.

“Is this enough or do you want more?”

The answer comes in the stinging press of nails into Jess’ back and the way Abigail tugs her hair to reconnect their lips. The kiss is hot and hard and fast and Jess takes her cues from Abigail. She hitches Abigail’s leg up over her hip and roughly presses in with another finger. Abigail bites Jess’ lip when she starts to move, slow at first to make sure she doesn’t hurt her, then faster once she’s sure she won’t.

Jess wants her to scream, wants her name to echo off the cheap tile until everyone in this bar knows that it’s her, Jessica Drew, that’s in here with a woman writhing on her hand. But Abigail didn’t get to be director of S.W.O.R.D. without some discretion. She muffles her whimpers in Jess’ shoulder, her neck, her mouth, compensating only with her grip on Jess’ back. There’s no question that she’s drawn blood, Jess just hope she doesn’t leave more scars.

Abigail manages to stay quiet when Jess’ thumb finds her clit and presses down hard. Jess is disappointed but settles for sucking a dark angry bruise into the spot where Abigail’s neck meets her shoulder. The mark is going to look gross tomorrow and Abigail will likely going to punch her when she notices it. That makes it even more worth it.

When she comes, it’s noticeable only in the way her body clenches around Jess, arms about her back, leg around her waist, pussy around her fingers. Jess holds her up until she starts breathing normally and supporting most of her weight on her own. She withdraws her fingers and brings them to her mouth. Abigail tastes salty but other than, is just like any other girl; there’s no lingering trace that identifies her as not-of-this-world. Jess wonders what exactly she expected.

“You’re better at that than I expected you’d be.”

OK way rude. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing Ms. Drew. Just that I didn’t realize your sexuality was so flexible.”

“Well considering the fact that you’re still calling me Ms. Drew a minute after I fucked you in a dirty bathroom, I’d say you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Touché. Jessica. Let’s fix that shall we?”

She turns them so that Jess’ back is to the door and presses her against it. Abigail makes a show of sliding down her body to sit on the closed lid of the toilet behind her. She helps Jess with her belt and her pants, shucking one leg and leaving the other halfway up her calf. She settles Jess’ free leg over her shoulder and the weird angle sets her off balance until Jess hooks her hands over the top of the stall on either side. Abigail looks up at Jess, her eyes a burning green.

“I’d say there’s a few things  _you_  don’t know about me. For one, my tongue is able to do remarkable things that far surpass the average person. It’s good for languages and diplomacy, of course,” she says licking her lips.

“But we both know I’ve got very little patience for politics.”

She dips her head and licks into Jess. Her tongue, her alien tongue, is capable of the kind of black magic that makes Jess forget where she is and who she’s with. Every sense in her body is attuned to how Abigail works between her legs. Like the woman herself, her lovemaking is direct and wastes no time or movement. She teases Jess’ entrance for about five seconds before moving to her clit and latching on.

_“Holy fuck”_

Abigail chuckles against Jess and the vibrations ripple through her body sending her dangerously close to ripping that silky green hair straight from her scalp. While Jess is sure this won’t make them bosom buddies, at the very least Abigail is about to learn every swear word she knows.

 

...

 

Jess would like to say that she doesn’t make fucking her boss a regular event, but she also likes to say that she’s not a liar. At least not anymore than she has to be. What she’s got with Abigail is complicated as hell and at the same time, the simplest thing in her life right now. There’s an unspoken agreement there. Never at work. If Abigail stays the night it’s out of necessity or convenience alone. There’s no discussion about  _what this is_ and most importantly, there are no questions. Abigail doesn’t ask anything more about Jess’ past than what’s already common knowledge. In return, Jess doesn’t ask Abigail about Anna and Grace why their names are etched into her skin.

They still don’t talk much about anything that doesn’t have to do with their collective vendetta against unauthorized extraterrestrial activity on Earth and figuring out how to plug the leak in S.W.O.R.D. During the day, Abigail treats Jess like every other agent and that’s a welcome blessing. Perhaps in a decade or so, the rest of S.W.O.R.D. will take her lead and stop looking at Jess like a ticking bomb.

But sometimes, Abigail pops up with bottles of the most terrible tasting Chinese rice wine and expects Jess to finish them with her. Other times and Jess wakes up wrapped around her when she knows she was firmly on her side of the bed when she closed her eyes.

Somehow, having sex with Abigail Brand makes her even more aggravating. It irritates Jess to think about how good it felt to come apart on her lips, how much Jess is still impressed by her arms when she works out, how much better it feels having someone to kiss and hold after so long. But also, Abigail is cold and tactless and always thinks she’s right; most of the time she is right. And she’s clever enough to recognize and push all of Jess’ buttons. It’s the worst.

Which is why when Jess comes home to the red envelope under her door, she knows Abigail is trying to be cute again. Which,  _no_.

There’s no sign of forced entry, but she wasn’t expecting one. What she can’t figure out is whether Abigail sent someone to deliver it, delegating the task as S.W.O.R.D. commander or whether she delivered it herself, using the spare key she’s seen Jess hide behind a loose brick in the alley leading up to the stairs. It shouldn’t matter because it’s in her hands looking like it’s about to explode any second. But it does matter. Especially considering the exact details written in that now-familiar scrawl. She needs to know whether

Commander Brand is giving her an order or if Abigail is asking for a favor.  Jess needs to know if lines are blurring for her as well.

 

...

 

Jess pulls out her phone and dials, trying to ignore the churning in her gut when the line picks up.

“Is this a serious assignment?”

“Agent Drew”, she still calls Jess that now because it annoys her. “Should I have put it on my personal letterhead?”

“HYDRA. You’re sending me into HYDRA? Why would you even con--"

“Jessica think. When you were there before they’d captured a Skrull. A live Skrull. This is something neither S.W.O.R.D nor the Avengers has yet accomplished. What’s more, that Skrull successfully infiltrated HYDRA, the organization that knew you were in Madripoor almost immediately after you landed. What does that mean to you?”

“He had terrible taste.”

“No. That either you were right and HYDRA has a person up here and is planning something-- ”

“Or there are more Skrulls within HYDRA itself.”

“Or both.“

“And you want me to find out which.”

“If at all possible.”

“Yeah. I’m not so sure I’m the right...person for this mission.”

“Name someone more qualified than an ex-Avenger, ex-S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and an ex-private investigator with superhuman powers who’s been hunting aliens for the past two months.”

Jess huffs. Those are good reasons but they aren’t the real reason why Jess is the obvious choice. Objectively, no one at S.W.O.R.D., or in any other legitimate organization, knows HYDRA the way she does. She knows how they operate, how they train, and what to expect from security. She can do more in a day with the vague information Abigail has cobbled together than every other soul on this base could manage in a week. It would be a win-win operation. She’ll either find more Skrulls that need to be put down or a way to strike a blow to one of her most hated enemies.

Abigail waits for Jess’ answer, but Jess doesn’t think she understands just how much she’s asking until there’s a soft sigh on the other end of the line.

“Jess, you don’t have to do this. I still have a few favors I can call in.”

There it is. That’s her sign that this is no longer operator and handler. The taint — if you can call something so heated and pleasurable a stain — of their personal relationship has crept into their professional one. It should send them both running for the hills. Giving in to whatever pulls her towards Abigail Brand is a terrible idea.  So of course, she does it.

“No. I’ll go. Just, come over tonight.”

“Jessica.”

_“Abby,”_ she replies, not quite able to keep the pleading tone out of her voice.

“I’ll be there.”

 

...

 

Jess barely lets Abigail step into the apartment before slamming the door behind her and reaching for her belt. She doesn’t press her against the wall so much as Abigail leans back to give her room to work. She’s watching Jess closely; that much is obvious even through those annoying sunglasses she wears at any given time of day. She hisses when Jess finally gets a hand down in her. She came straight from S.W.O.R.D. and navigating that skintight uniform is a new, but welcome challenge. 

She came straight here because Jess asked her to. That means more than either of them are willing to admit. So does the way her head tilts back against the wall, baring her neck to Jess’ tongue, her lips, and her teeth. It’s a startlingly submissive pose when Abigail Brand is anything but. She’s doing this because Jess needs  _something_  and she’s trying to give it. The problem is, aside from those wispy cries against her ear, Jess doesn’t know what it is she wants from Abigail. So she takes everything.

As she licks down Abigail’s stomach, Jess absorbs every gasp, every twitch of her hips. She becomes so pliant with Jessica’s tongue curling over her clit. When Jess pushes two fingers inside her, Abigail sighs and strokes her hair back so she can look down at her face. Her eyes are steady even as her chest heaves with her breathlessness. Jess doesn’t like that probing stare. There’s nothing there for Abigail to find, just the two of them and the hot, slick, pleasure between them. She grips Abigail’s hips tighter and presses her lips more firmly against her. The result is a stunning picture of Abigail with her eyes closed, head thrown back and breasts straining, begging practically, for Jess to reach up to caress them as she climaxes.

Yeah. That’s better in more ways than one.  


	3. Chapter 3

“You will fall in love with your friends. Deep, passionate love. You will create a second family with them, a kind of tribe that makes you feel less vulnerable. Sometimes our families can’t love us all the time. Sometimes we’re born into families who don’t know how to love us properly.”

* * *

“We need to talk, Drew.”

It’s not until she’s getting ready to leave that Abigail speaks again. She pushes Jess back down against the pillows and looks down at her, searching her face. Her hair falls over her shoulder and now it doesn’t skeeve Jess out as much as it used to. Now she just thinks about how soft and silky it feels in her fingers or brushing against her thigh. It’s a bad line of thought to have when her fingers are less than a foot away from the apex of Abigail’sthighs and all she wants is to put off leaving this bed and returning to the real world. A sharp pinch to her side gets her attention.

“Don’t get distracted.”  It’s bit late for that.

“What’s up?”

“I got a message from a friend of yours today.”

“What? Who?”

“Carol Danvers, formerly of the Air Force now of the Avengers. Well the message was technically delivered through my superiors before it trickled down to me.”

“Oh. How?”

“When you’re cozied up to Captain America, there are very few people you can’t reach. Apparently she couldn’t get a hold of you, which is unsurprising since I can barely get a hold of you. So she tried alternate channels.”

“Yeah,” Jess says.  “What did she say?”

“This is a direct quote. ‘Tell Drew to stop being such a little jerk and pick up her goddamn phone. Please.’”

Abigail’s tone says she’s annoyed to be relaying messages for like a secretary, but her eyes laugh at the way Jess shifting uncomfortably beneath her. . 

“Now granted I spend most of my time punching things; fugitive aliens, intergalactic war criminals, computers and not so much time on the finer arts of communication. But those sound like mixed signals to me.”

No. They sound like Carol. She wants Jess to know she’s pissed, but also that she still expects to hear from her. And that’s the worst part. Jess really wants to hear from her too. But she glances to the still healing burn on her wrist. She got it helping Abigail interrogate a target. Or rather, when she held him still as Abigail scored the flesh of his neck until he could barely breathe. The burn came from foolishly loosening her grip and getting in the way of her partner’s superheated palms. She thinks now that she deserves that. –Not that the creep they’d been interrogating didn’t deserve it more, but Jess is not proud of what basically amounts to torture. The voice in her head reminds her of her shortcomings every time she thinks about going back. It reminds her of the state she’s in and the things she’s been doing. It asks a painful but legitimate question. _Honestly Jess, would you want to be on a team with you?_

“I’ll take care of it.”  She looks away and tries to figure out how. For once, Abigail is blessedly silent. She says she’s not perceptive, but no one gets where she is without being able to spot a false facade. And Jess can feel the turmoil written all over her face.

Abigail sighs. “I’m not for you Jessica. And neither is this.”

It’s an odd thing to say when Abigail is straddling her hips and Jess already has one hand snaking up under her shirt. She’s desperately trying to distract her and derail this conversation, to stop it from heading where she suspects it’s going.

“You can play this lone wolf routine as much as you want, but you’re more transparent than you think. You’re here with me, hiding and licking your wounds, but it’s not working and you’re just tearing yourself apart”

“Where is this coming from?” Abigail’s firm grip on Jess’ shoulder pulls her down when she starts to roll from under her.

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. You’re angry and I have so problem to continue using your anger. But you’re not just another agent to me now. Some very small, very irresponsible and very foolish part of me cares about your wellbeing. You’re free to stay here with S.W.O.R.D. with me, as long as you want. As long as you can admit _why_ you’re here.” 

As Jess lies pinned under her weight and her stare, the words she’s kept hidden even from herself, come tumbling out.

“I’m afraid”, she mumbles. She tries again to turn away only to be pressed down by the weight across her hips.

“Afraid of what?” Abigail’s voice is softer. Like she knows the answer.

 _Besides every shadow in the night and every whisper in the dark?_ _“_ Being happy. Well, trying to be happy and losing it. Every time in my life, that I’ve been in any way content, the next moment is a cruel wakeup. And this time I just…I can’t.”

“Is that why you’re here with me? Getting your hands dirty? Because you don’t think you’ll ever have more than revenge and fucking a woman who’s married to her job? Or do you not think you deserve more than that?”

“What I deserve and what I get are two wildly different things.” Jess tells herself those aren’t tears stinging her eyes, just the sunlight beaming from where they forgot to close the blinds. She almost believes herself.

“Oh, Jess you’re an idiot.” Abigail says, climbing off Jess and sitting on the edge of the bed to tug on her boots. “You know we probably shouldn’t do this anymore right?” She gestures to the bed Jess is tumbled in and the trail of clothes littering the room.

“I know we probably shouldn’t have started.”

Abigail, fully dressed with her jacket in her hand and her glasses hanging from the collar of her shirt, leans down over her, the emerald curtain of her hair spreading around them. Her lips are softer than usual when they find Jess’ mouth. Jess’ hands move to her shoulders and scratch lightly at the nape of her neck. Warm fingers stroke her jaw, coaxing Jess to part her lips. Abigail doesn’t explore so much as linger and Jess can taste the goodbye on her tongue.

When she pulls back there’s a faint smile on her lips and not a hint of bitterness. She’s a good friend, now that they’ve discovered that friend is the appropriate word for what they are --should be. Jess hopes she can start to return the favor. Abigail shuts the door gently as she leaves, and Jess is once again alone with her thoughts for company. That is the cruelest part. Later, she spends what feels like the umpteenth sleepless night staring at a blank screen trying to find an acceptable reply to the messages slowly filling her inbox.

 

...

 

In the end, calls because she’s an adult and adults might run away from time to time, but they don’t hide forever. She imagines the call going smoothly. She intends to cut Carol off before her litany of complaints about Jess’ behavior. Then Jess would apologize and tell Carol she missed her because that’s one definite truth in her world of gray. Jess has missed her voice, her innate goodness, the way she knows exactly who she is, her cocky boasts when she’s about to lay the hurt on some poor super villain. Jess misses her when she’s in on missions with borrowed S.W.O.R.D. agents who don’t appreciate her sense of humor. It runs through her mind at the most inopportune times; _Carol would have laughed._

Most of all, she misses her when she gets to the bottom of her hamper and finds her screen printed T shirt of Chewie that Carol gave Jess as a gag gift. It ended up being the most comfortable nightshirt she owns. The image has faded around the edges, but the glare from that hell beast is still strong, judging Jess and finding her wanting. Hah, the cat is a good judge of character.

Jess gets all the way up to dialing the number and pressing the phone to her ear before discovering that along with being an adult, she’s also something of a coward.

“Hello?” The sleepy voice reminds her that is past two in the morning, which makes everything worse. Now this probably is going to sound like a drunk dial, and she’s been sober for two full hours.

“Jessica? Is that you? Are you there?”

Jess snaps the phone shut instead of just breathing on the line like a creep. It doesn’t make her feel less like a loser. Neither does the fucking cat T-shirt in her hands. Somehow instead of glaring, now the little bastard is mocking her.

“Shut up. “

 

...

 

 

The funny thing about Carol Danvers is that anything can be twisted into an invitation, when she puts her mind to it. Which is why Jess has a person shaped silhouette skulking outside her door that she almost attacks before she realizes it’s her best friend. 

“You had the locks changed”, Carol says, jingling the keychain that holds the spare key to Jess’ apartment. At the end is a Spider-Man bauble that Jess thought was hilarious when she bought it.

“Yeah. I didn’t feel comfortable not knowing who Veranke gave keys to. I mean, one of her generals could be walking around with it. Not that a padlock is going to stop a super Skrull, well, maybe the deadbolt would delay them, but it makes me sleep better so…” She’s rambling. She’s rambling like a fool and it needs to stop.

“I thought about climbing in your window but that seemed sketchy. Also like something you spider people would do.”

“Probably.”

It goes with out saying that coming home to someone already there would have given Jessica a heart attack. Not that her heart is doing all that hot now. It’s beating so loud Carol will hear it if she steps any closer. Which of course, she does.

“Are you? Sleeping better that is? “Carol says putting a hand on her arm and squeezing gently.

“For the most part” _That’s what the pills are for_ is a thought she keeps to herself.

“Good. Are you going to let me in?”

“Maybe. Did you bring food?”

Carol lifts the paper bag in her hand. “I know my audience.  Are cheesesteaks enough to gain entry?”

“More than. Bless you, you wonderful woman.”

OK, this could work. Pretending that everything is normal. Eating food and making rude comments at cliché romantic comedies. This is something Jess and Carol have done before and it feels good. It’s nice to do something that doesn’t involve getting shot at or being reminded how narrowly the planet escaped domination. It’s nice to sit here with the remains of a greasy order of fries in her lap and Carol’s knees brushing the outside of her thigh from where she’s tucked her feet up under her.

She sounds repetitive even in her own head but it’s... _nice._

“Hey” Carol says when the end credits roll. “You’re doing ok, right?” she says it softly and Jess was really hoping to avoid having this conversation. Again. “Because you look like you went three rounds with a prizefighter and didn’t even try. Also, what are you wearing? I thought you’d gotten over the raggedy jeans and tank top phase in Madripoor. Honestly, jess. Just no.”

Potshots at her wardrobe were not where Jess expected this to go. It’s better but also worse.

“God, why am I friends with you?”

“Because you’ve funneled all your good taste into your taste in people.” Carol smiles because she’s really impressed with herself. Jess starts laughing uncontrollably. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but she’s nearly crying over a Carol Danvers joke. The world must be ending. They watch another movie and a half, both part of the same series about teenage vampires. She promises herself, that she’s bringing up Carol’s taste in movies soon.

Halfway through the third movie, when Jess can’t even begin to care anymore about what’s happening on the screen, she turns to Carol.

“You here to tell me to stop being a dumbass, Danvers?”

“Nope. Though you could stand to tone that down. Rumor has it you all are fighting more than aliens. I’m here to help. “

“Yeah. OK” she nods and scoots further into the couch thinking about what really stopped her from _asking_ for help in the first place. 

 

...

 

Jess falls asleep and finds herself back in Madripoor. Everything hurt. She should probably stop getting blown up. Blood dripped from her nose and a gash behind her ear and the coppery taste makes Jess want to vomit. So does the ugly bastard striding toward her. Broken glass crunches under his boots and she wonder if that’s what her bones are going to sound like when he’s through with her. She’s waiting for a kick and another fiery punch to the face, but that’s not where he’s aiming this time. 

_“The reason we knew you could be switched for one of us is that of all the people in the world, we discovered that no one on this entire planet cares enough about you to notice you at all and of all the things that went wrong about our invasion that’ the one thing we were absolutely right about.”_

That’s when she wakes up with her face pressed into Carol’s shoulder. Jess can’t stop the way she clutches at her and shivers in her arms, threatening to come apart at the seams. Carol holds her together and she’s grateful, but that’s part of the problem. Jess need to pull _herself_ together. It’s easy to gallivant around with her fancy alien detector and a big ass gun. It’s hard to face the truth. So when she gets up and locks herself in the shower until Carol takes the hint to leave, Jess wonders if she’s made any progress at all.

 

…

 

The strategy is sound. The way to root out a mole is with a trap. But all traps have bait and this time that bait is Commander Abigail Brand. When she told Jess about the plan, she thought it was crazy and kind of ridiculous. But those are also words she’d use to describe Abigail herself. The best kind of crazy. It helped that Abigail already suspected who the leak was. So she leaves the Peak with a grim expression doesn’t hide the gleam in her eyes. For living bait, she’s astoundingly prepared for a hunt. 

When word comes back that she’s been captured per their plan, Jessica organizes the retrieval mission. Sure enough, their rat insists on leading the team. It’s the big guy who’d preened for her the first time she’d come up here. His file says he’s half alien, with a father from some 2-bit moon far away. As far as she can tell, he had nothing to do with the Skrull invasion and is just capitalizing on a weak S.W.O.R.D. and a grasping HYDRA. That doesn’t stop Jess from wanting to zap his balls off when she remembers the agents they lost in Beijing. Instead, she follows the traitor into battle. She puts up a good fight before she’s overwhelmed by HYDRA agents and prays the message she sent before leaving will deliver her from this mess.

_Danvers. I don’t need to be avenged just yet, but I could use a friend. You got plans?_

 

…

 

This time when she passes out, Jess recognizes her nightmare for what it is. This one isn’t so much a dream as a replay of a memory, a flashback to her childhood. She was still innocent then and probably the happiest she would ever be. Tucked away in that little enclave in the mountains, the highlight of her day was long walks with her mother, collecting samples for her parents’ experiments. A particular conversation sticks out to her. 

“Mummy? Do you think the spider has a family?”

“No, baby.”

“No?”

“Spiders don’t have families.”

It was the first time she’d felt anything negative about those jaunts into the woods. It was the first time she thought about the consequences of ripping another living creature from its home to suit her own ends. From that day on Jess, felt a special empathy for the spiders. A desire to sneak into her fathers lab and rescue the ones she could. Much later, she’ll come to suspect that empathy had a lot more to do with her own genetic makeup than the kindness of a child.

But Jess is not above the symbolism and what it means. Abigail is right. Her mother was wrong. She is not a lone wolf and spiders most certainly do have families. At least she does. 

 

...

 

Jess wakes handcuffed to a chair in a dark room with a split lip and a pounding headache. This is starting to be come a trend. She doesn’t like it. Once again, Carol is the first thing she sees. She’s standing over the wreckage of a steel-reinforced door and half a dozen armed guards, with not a scratch on her. The guards are all unconscious. God, Carol is so majestic sometimes.

She steps over a groaning HYDRA lackey and crouches in front of Jess’ chair.

“Just couldn't stay out of trouble, could you?” 

“Not and breathe at the same time.”

“Jeez, the things I put up with.” There’s laughter in her voice. She’s glad to be here. She’s glad Jess called. She’s glad she’s going to get to punch a lot of things. They fight their way through the base. It’s loud and messy and Jess gets nostalgic as hell. When they reach the main atrium, Viper—Madame Hydra—is waiting for her.

“Jessica. When will you ever stop being such a naughty little minx? I ought to punish you.”

Beside her Carol scoffs. “I’d like to see you try.”

“What’s the meaning of this, Viper? What do you want?”

“My darling girl, isn’t it obvious? I just want you. I want to take my daughter who is unfortunately without any meaning or purpose in her life and help her adapt to the future. You need me, my sweet. Come to mama and I’ll make your friend’s death painless. Relatively.”

“Fuck that.”

“I missed your defiance, sweetheart, but not enough that I’ll tolerate such disrespect. Seize them.”

Later, Jess will talk about being swarmed by twenty combat trained HYDRA agents and people will think it’s an exaggeration. It’s not. She scratches and scrapes for her very life, well mostly for Carol’s life. Viper will kill her if she gets the opportunity. Jess gets a golden pass. Lucky her.

“You know darling,” Viper calls from atop the podium in the center of the room, calmly watching as a sizable clump of hair is yanked from Jess’ head and she’s thrown against a wall. “I’d think you’d be more appreciative of my offer. You are the Spider-Woman; you are Arachne because we made you so. We are family, Jessica. We are all you have.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Jess.” Carol shouts between blasting goons left and right. “New deal. You get to Viper first and you can knock her teeth in and can play agent S.W.O.R.D. agent all you want.”

She flies to the ceiling using the man in her hand as a shield before tossing him at his comrades.  “But, if I get to her first we go home _together_...after I knock her teeth in.”

Do people actually find it in them to say no to Carol Danvers? Jess is not doing a very good job of it.

“Deal.”

 

…

 

It takes a few minutes and several new wounds for Jess, but with Carol at her side the tides turn and they advance on Viper together. Instead of pissing herself like a smart person, Madame Hydra just laughs.

“And now, you have a choice. Jessica. Capture me or save your friend with the much less flattering green hair. ”

She presses a sequence on a panel and alarms blare. It’s a distinctive sound that can only mean some self-destruct sequence has been activated. This base is burnt and now Viper plans to burn it to the ground. Her men and whatever prisoners inside be damned.

“Carol! Brand is in here somewhere.” Jess looks around frantically, trying to orient herself and make an educated guess about where Abigail is being held. She’d beat it out of the S.W.O.R.D. mole but HYDRA agents knocked him out before he could dramatically switch sides. Tough cookies. Her only option is to get to Viper in time and beat it out of her.

“Well I must be going. I suggest you look that way, darling.” Viper points down the way they came, before sprinting down the opposite hall. Jess wants more than anything to run her down and pound the living hell out of her. But some things are more important than revenge. By the time they locate Abigail’s cell, Jess suspects they have less than a minute before the base explodes. Luckily there are already several glowing handprint-shaped spots on the door. In ten minutes of so, Abigail would have freed herself. Carol finishes the job with a well-placed kick and Abigail looks stupidly between the two of them before stepping out and surveying the damage.

“Not your best work Agent Drew, but not bad.”

“How can you be such a little shit at a time like this?”

“We’d better go.” Carol says, pushing them both further down the corridor. The warning alarm’s frequency has increased to the point where it’s a steady blast overhead. 

When she bursts through a window and the shattered glass leaves cuts on her hands and arms through her uniform she reflects that this is the second S.W.O.R.D. mission in as many months that has ended with Jess leaping out of a building. It’s a troubling trend, but at least this time someone is there to catch her. 

 

…

 

“Abandoning me to my own devices?”

Abigail is so smug that Jess wants to smack her. The text she sent to notifying her of Jess’ return to full time status with the Avengers served as enough notice. She’ll run missions when she can, but it’s no longer her number one focus. But Jess wants to say goodbye to in person. They’re at that bar again, the one where the bartender slips Jess a smarmy grin every once in a while to let her know that he knows what she and Abigail got up to in the bathroom that one time. The one Abigail’s insists on coming to because she’s awful and ranks having her specific brand of tequila higher than Jess’ comfort.

Jess settles down next to her and signals for a beer; she’s never been able to casually put away shots like Abigail can. Those were saved for when she was trying to drown out the voices in her head. But recently, Jess is trying this new thing called listening to herself, to her heart at least. It’s what leads her to swallow the snarky retort and answer honestly.

“You’re right. I’m an Avenger. And just because I got my feelings hurt doesn’t mean that’s not true.”

“Huh.” Brand knocks back another shot of something dark before waving for another. “It didn’t take you as long as I expected.”

“Well. I had a wake up call.”

“Is that what we’re calling it? I think it’s more like a pitiful little puppy that has just been reclaimed by her owner.”

“Shut up.” Jess pulls her into a crushing hug, smacking a kiss on her cheek when she bristles and pressing their lips together for old times sake.

“I’ll be here whenever you need me, Abby. Just call.”

“Duly noted, Ms. Drew.”

 

...

 

Carol is waiting outside for her outside. It’s like she’s scared Jess is going to run out on her again. The hand that immediately settles on her wrist confirms that.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen, you’re my best friend Jessica. So from here on out, you maybe want to punch things together?”

“That sounds good.”

“No. It sounds _great._ Chewie missed you.”

Jess highly doubts that but when she’s walking down the street, arm and arm with Carol it doesn’t matter that a mangy cat hates her guts. If anything, she’s missed her little game of wits with that little demon spawn. 

“By the way”, Carol starts, wrinkling her nose at her. “Are you wearing _green_ lipstick?”

“Oh god. Shut up.”

Jess walks away from her and tries to rub off whatever is on her mouth, but Carol catches up and leans forward to get a closer look. 

“I think you’ve got it all. But you’ve got some explaining to do.” she says in her Bossy Carol voice but her blue eyes shine with humor.  Jess punches her in the arm, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to do any actual damage. Carol continues making vaguely humorous observations about workplace decorum and whom it’s not OK to sleep with, but tucked against the warmth of her body, Jess doesn’t mind.

Despite the fact that it’s a lovely day and a little on the hot side even for her, Jess feels like she’s coming back in from the cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Carol actually got her cat after Jess was replaced, but their antagonistic relationship was to good for me to ignore.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
